I used the word "chicane" today. Correctly. It doesn't mean the same as chicanery, which means fooling or cheating someone. Most of you have experienced a chicane when you wait on the security line at the airport. It's that place where you go back and forth and slowly approach where you're trying to get. My first time hearing the word was on ABC's Wide World of Sports, where from time to time they would show bobsledding for the famous Cresta Run in St. Moritz, where are all of the turns had names. Chicane was a rapid back and forth, leading up to the feared Shuttlecock curve, which was always the most exciting part of the run, just because a racer's chance of getting through it without flying off the track and into a big pile of hay bales were about 50-50.
That has little to do with riding a bike in Florida, which is what I did today. I've been doing this every day. The roadside bike trails here are as nice as any you'll see- smooth and uninterrupted all 10 miles from Key Biscayne to the mainland. It's an absolute pleasure to ride on, even on a crappy hybrid rental bike (my bike this time isn't nearly as crappy as last time- at least all the gears work). The only problem is the other riders, who are almost universally rude. I'm not sure why the code about announcing yourself when you're passing someone is ignored here. I guess it's not exactly a code- it's more like guidelines. But anywhere you ride in the east, if someone is going to pass you they say "on your left" so you know to hold your line and not take that moment to get a drink.
Maybe it's because the bike lanes are too nice, but 99% of riders here see no need to do this, and some of them cut close enough that even a slight change of direction would cause us both to crash. I mean, how hard is it to be considerate? Okay, I'm a human being in 2017. It seems it's generally a lot of effort to be considerate, but it's no excuse.
I put up with it because the flat, smooth ride takes you through mangroves and then on a causeway connecting Key Biscayne to Virginia Key to the mainland. There are spots on the causeway with pretty spectacular views of Miami and Miami Beach and, today at least, a half dozen massive cruise ships parked in between.
Ever since I've been doing this I wondered why so many cyclists turned off onto this road on Virginia Key. What could be out there, I wondered? (Not sure if that's correct punctuation) The sign only says "Water Treatment Plant." So I decided to follow a group and passed a mile of parking lots, ending with one large one full of cars with bike racks. People weren't actually going there, they were just coming back to their cars. Plus to add to the enjoyment, a car passed me and someone yelled out the window "Keep peddling bitch." I'm not sure what he meant by that. Of course I was going to keep peddling. I was on a bicycle. That's the way they move. But with that encouragement, I reached the end of the access road.
If it wasn't the destination I had in mind, at least I saw there was a mountain biking area next to the parking lot. Now this is absurd on its face. There isn't even a hill within 200 miles of here, much less a mountain. But I decided to enter anyway just to see. One of the advantages of the crappy rental bike is that it's able to do things that your own beloved bike could never do, like ride in the sand. Kind of like the way rental cars are able to handle speed bumps without your having to slow down. I entered someplace labeled "Novice Trail."
I've never mountain biked. They have a lot of it in Lake Placid. I've heard that biking down a novice ski slope is absolutely terrifying. It sounds like fun but I'm too cautious a rider to really enjoy it. Here, lacking a mountain, they make do with trees and, I'm sure you were wondering when it I'd get to it, a chicane. The trail is in a 100 foot square of pine trees with a narrow path roped off where you make one 180 degree turn after another. The only challenge is that the path is only about a foot wider than the handlebars, so if you don't hit the turn right, your handlebars hit a tree and you either fall or put your feet down, which I what I did the couple of times it happened. After about 5 minutes of that silliness I escaped. Getting buzzed by other cyclists again was a relative pleasure.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
You must remember this
Like many things I sound very sure about, I have no proof for the following statement, but my guess is that people in general don't like to see themselves as memories. We tend to think of ourselves as corporeal and the center of our own particular universe. Having had more than one opportunity recently to ponder the ending and ultimate meaning of things, however, I've tempered my own view of this sort of thing.
I've been thinking about what constitutes happy endings. I think that in most scenarios, a happy ending can be made up of mostly if not entirely memories. For any individual life, for example, that's what there is in the end. My uncle now consists for me and everyone else entirely of memories, and I am more than okay with that thought. It's like a line from The Phantom Tollbooth (of course) "if something is there, you can only see it with your eyes open, but if it isn't there, you can see it just as well with your eyes closed. That's why imaginary things are often easier to see than real ones."
This may sound morbid when you're talking about people who've passed away, but that's just because we choose to view death as morbid, which is something that's cultural. Death is just death. My uncle lived across the continent from me, and even when I was spending the most time with him, it was only 2-3 weeks out of a year. He remains just as real to me as he was for almost my entire waking life, and not just because I was holding his hand a week ago.
As a teacher, I should point out, memories are what I peddle in. If I do my job really well, in the end I will have a lasting relationship with my students based (almost always) entirely on memories. I (we) spend much of our time trying to explain things in a way that will stick, because what is learning really but a meaningful set of memories?
Of course there are experiences involved in learning as well, but even those will ultimately be all in the past. And that's a good thing. You can't add your presence to everything you've ever taught or everything you've ever done or everyone you've ever known, all at the same time. I'm as good at spreading myself around as anyone, but much as I hate to, sometimes I have to put limits on myself or risk exhaustion. Anyone who's been around me recently can understand why this is on my mind these days.
We try to peddle meaningful memories as parents and friends and mentors and any kind of nurturing relationship. Whether you're talking about death or life, ultimately there's a time to let go and let that relationship become a memory. Hopefully it's one of the meaningful kind. So lately when I think of loss and ending, I try to keep this in mind and not get sad or upset about it. It's just the way things go, and go they will.
Oh, and I apologize for the cheesy title.
I've been thinking about what constitutes happy endings. I think that in most scenarios, a happy ending can be made up of mostly if not entirely memories. For any individual life, for example, that's what there is in the end. My uncle now consists for me and everyone else entirely of memories, and I am more than okay with that thought. It's like a line from The Phantom Tollbooth (of course) "if something is there, you can only see it with your eyes open, but if it isn't there, you can see it just as well with your eyes closed. That's why imaginary things are often easier to see than real ones."
This may sound morbid when you're talking about people who've passed away, but that's just because we choose to view death as morbid, which is something that's cultural. Death is just death. My uncle lived across the continent from me, and even when I was spending the most time with him, it was only 2-3 weeks out of a year. He remains just as real to me as he was for almost my entire waking life, and not just because I was holding his hand a week ago.
As a teacher, I should point out, memories are what I peddle in. If I do my job really well, in the end I will have a lasting relationship with my students based (almost always) entirely on memories. I (we) spend much of our time trying to explain things in a way that will stick, because what is learning really but a meaningful set of memories?
Of course there are experiences involved in learning as well, but even those will ultimately be all in the past. And that's a good thing. You can't add your presence to everything you've ever taught or everything you've ever done or everyone you've ever known, all at the same time. I'm as good at spreading myself around as anyone, but much as I hate to, sometimes I have to put limits on myself or risk exhaustion. Anyone who's been around me recently can understand why this is on my mind these days.
We try to peddle meaningful memories as parents and friends and mentors and any kind of nurturing relationship. Whether you're talking about death or life, ultimately there's a time to let go and let that relationship become a memory. Hopefully it's one of the meaningful kind. So lately when I think of loss and ending, I try to keep this in mind and not get sad or upset about it. It's just the way things go, and go they will.
Oh, and I apologize for the cheesy title.
Why does it always have to be you?
I managed to coax myself into sleeping for 7 1/2 hours last night. I always fall asleep easily, but have a tendency to wake up and stay up. But at least for the duration of this trip I'm managing to get 6 1/2 or more hours a night. Because of the long sleep, I had a somewhat shortened bike ride, but I made it through the day nonetheless. We don't do much here.
We sit on lounge chairs by the pool and read is most of it. We arrange an umbrella so I'm in the sun and Ronnie is in the shade. I turn my chair facing in the opposite direction from everyone else, enduring the good-natured ridicule. Aside: One of my favorite moments for adolescence, and face it, how many of us have any favorite moments from adolescence, was when I did something, I don't remember what but something, that amused and stirred up a large group of people and I muttered, "There's one in every crowd" and my friend replied "Yeah, but why does it always have to be you."
Honestly, being on the beach is nicer. The view out into the ocean is more pleasant than the pool and (very nice) hotel grounds, but the beach requires a relatively low level of wind to prevent umbrellas flying around and it's been very windy the whole time. Nonetheless I am getting very tan. I kind of can't help it- my skin just does that. I'm a careful tanner though- annoyingly thorough with sunscreen.
I'm reading a book called You Gotta Have Wa, about Japanese baseball. Very entertaining and interesting. A good vacation read. In the evening we went to the movies and had a mixed bag kind of dinner at the Ice Box, noted mostly for their desserts and specifically Key Lime Pie. The dinner was okay- one dish way better than the other, the service pretty uneven, but the pie? Heavenly.
We sit on lounge chairs by the pool and read is most of it. We arrange an umbrella so I'm in the sun and Ronnie is in the shade. I turn my chair facing in the opposite direction from everyone else, enduring the good-natured ridicule. Aside: One of my favorite moments for adolescence, and face it, how many of us have any favorite moments from adolescence, was when I did something, I don't remember what but something, that amused and stirred up a large group of people and I muttered, "There's one in every crowd" and my friend replied "Yeah, but why does it always have to be you."
Honestly, being on the beach is nicer. The view out into the ocean is more pleasant than the pool and (very nice) hotel grounds, but the beach requires a relatively low level of wind to prevent umbrellas flying around and it's been very windy the whole time. Nonetheless I am getting very tan. I kind of can't help it- my skin just does that. I'm a careful tanner though- annoyingly thorough with sunscreen.
I'm reading a book called You Gotta Have Wa, about Japanese baseball. Very entertaining and interesting. A good vacation read. In the evening we went to the movies and had a mixed bag kind of dinner at the Ice Box, noted mostly for their desserts and specifically Key Lime Pie. The dinner was okay- one dish way better than the other, the service pretty uneven, but the pie? Heavenly.
Inyjoy
I would say that it's just the training at this hotel, but I've heard it almost everywhere we've gone- some sort of Spanish accented version of enjoy. I don't know why they pick this particular word- there's no 'j' sound in Spanish, so depending on the speaker's English skill, it comes out anywhere between "enjoy" and "enyoy" inclusive. And the people here say it in response to almost anything (like in response to my saying "thank you" to someone for holding the door- yes, I enjoyed walking through the door). And this is just a transliteration thing, not any sort of commentary. I'm in the minority here not speaking Spanish. Miami is definitely an ESL kind of place. I guess at some point it was mostly Cuban influence, but it's very international at this point.
I took my mandatory walk up to the the lighthouse in the morning. That's a great walk, although today it was a little difficult because the wind has pushed a lot of seaweed onto the shore. The beach is pretty narrow in the first place, and the only place to walk was in the water. That was fine, the ocean temperature is lovely. It's just wet and slow going, and anytime anyone was coming in the other direction it was a challenge to avoid getting either soaked or tangle in the weeds.
Our day was spent by the pool, where we stayed until an incredibly, inconsiderately loud group of 6 or so people sat by us and then went in the pool and got louder and louder and louder until it was unbearable. We went up to the room and I went for a short bike ride before we headed out for our evening activity, a Miami Marlins-New York Mets baseball game.
This was my first indoor baseball game in a while (the last one has a long story surrounding it which I should write up some time). It was beautiful out, with a couple of showers around I suppose. But for whatever reason they chose to have the retractable roof closed. Not sure for what sort of evening they would have it open.
Marlins Park looks and feels like a Structure. It's what architecture critics might call "muscular." You can see the big strong stuff holding the whole thing together. It's not the most inviting place I've ever seen. The air inside was okay, though not as nice as outside. My problem with the closed roof was the reverberation of the sound of the crowd, music and announcer. I found the noise kind of weird and echoey and off-putting. I suppose I could get used to it but I'm glad I don't have to.
It seemed oddly uncrowded outside, but there were plenty of people inside, about half rooting for each team, which made for a pretty constant din. The seats were decent but the whole place was kind of distracting in a way that made it difficult to focus on the game. They also seemed unprepared for the possibility that people might want to buy food once at the game.
When I say that, I mean that there were the normal number of food stands, but every single one had huge lines, from the moment we got there until out hunt for food an hour into the game. They have all kinds of specialty stuff but you couldn't get at it. The ceviché line looked like it would take about a half hour to clear, as did the Cubano line. The celebrate grilled cheese stand ran out of grilled cheese in the 4th inning. I presume these people know that baseball games usually go for longer than 4 innings, but they sure didn't show it.
Eventually we found a sushi place that only took 10 minutes of so to clear the line. The game was very long, including a crucial video review, which was worth it just for the scoreboard graphic.
It ended with a big finish for the home team, so half the crowd went home happy.
I took my mandatory walk up to the the lighthouse in the morning. That's a great walk, although today it was a little difficult because the wind has pushed a lot of seaweed onto the shore. The beach is pretty narrow in the first place, and the only place to walk was in the water. That was fine, the ocean temperature is lovely. It's just wet and slow going, and anytime anyone was coming in the other direction it was a challenge to avoid getting either soaked or tangle in the weeds.
Our day was spent by the pool, where we stayed until an incredibly, inconsiderately loud group of 6 or so people sat by us and then went in the pool and got louder and louder and louder until it was unbearable. We went up to the room and I went for a short bike ride before we headed out for our evening activity, a Miami Marlins-New York Mets baseball game.
This was my first indoor baseball game in a while (the last one has a long story surrounding it which I should write up some time). It was beautiful out, with a couple of showers around I suppose. But for whatever reason they chose to have the retractable roof closed. Not sure for what sort of evening they would have it open.
Marlins Park looks and feels like a Structure. It's what architecture critics might call "muscular." You can see the big strong stuff holding the whole thing together. It's not the most inviting place I've ever seen. The air inside was okay, though not as nice as outside. My problem with the closed roof was the reverberation of the sound of the crowd, music and announcer. I found the noise kind of weird and echoey and off-putting. I suppose I could get used to it but I'm glad I don't have to.
 |
| Note the trapezoidal scoreboard |
When I say that, I mean that there were the normal number of food stands, but every single one had huge lines, from the moment we got there until out hunt for food an hour into the game. They have all kinds of specialty stuff but you couldn't get at it. The ceviché line looked like it would take about a half hour to clear, as did the Cubano line. The celebrate grilled cheese stand ran out of grilled cheese in the 4th inning. I presume these people know that baseball games usually go for longer than 4 innings, but they sure didn't show it.
Eventually we found a sushi place that only took 10 minutes of so to clear the line. The game was very long, including a crucial video review, which was worth it just for the scoreboard graphic.
Friday, April 14, 2017
Miami stuff
I don't like sitcoms. Anybody who spent any time with me in front of the TV knows that; I'm pretty vocal about. For those who haven't thought about it, sitcom is short for situational comedy. Literally, there is a situation and you may comedy out of it. The situation, if you can call it that, is always that somebody says or does something that is misunderstood, misinterpreted, misconstrued or simply missed.
In real life, most of the situation resolved by simple means. People ask for clarification, we apologize, we figure out what's really going on, or we never notice and nothing ever happens. In the sitcom, however, even the smallest misunderstanding gets blown out of proportion for a period ranging from 4 to 19 minutes. Sometimes, there are multiple misunderstandings on the same topic which gives the episode, and sitcoms exist as a series of episodes, a theme. The humor comes from the viewer understanding Sometimes all the misunderstandings have resolved at once and sometimes they resolve in stages.
Are used to be fine with this until I realized how repetitive they were. Now I just find them vaguely irritating.
I mention this only because it relates to my current state of mind, so I suppose this has a theme as well. As some of you know, I've been struggling with entanglements, or at least things I viewed as entanglements. It struck me this morning that the problem is not the entanglements themselves but how I deal with them. This may seem obvious to some people but not me,
Last night we saw a movie called Personal Shopper. It stars Kristen Stewart, who you may remember from one of those vampire kinds of things that was around a few years ago. She plays basically the same part here except she's a personal shopper. Or is she? She's also a medium, trying to make contact with her dead twin brother. Or is she?
It's one of those movies where you don't know at the end if anything actually happened or if it was all in the character's head. We saw it at this little place called Cinematheque, which is the closest thing Miami Beach has to an art house. It's just a pretty big room with a large projection screen and 100 seats or so. We were the only ones there when the movie started though someone else straggled in around 5 minutes in.
The whole thing has a pretty spooky feel and Stewart, as is her wont, spends a lot of time biting her lip and pushing her hair around. After it ends with a "did this really happen?" my wife and I strolled out and said to the guy working the ticket stand, "weird to watch that movie with only one other person." To which he replied without hesitation "What other person?"
In real life, most of the situation resolved by simple means. People ask for clarification, we apologize, we figure out what's really going on, or we never notice and nothing ever happens. In the sitcom, however, even the smallest misunderstanding gets blown out of proportion for a period ranging from 4 to 19 minutes. Sometimes, there are multiple misunderstandings on the same topic which gives the episode, and sitcoms exist as a series of episodes, a theme. The humor comes from the viewer understanding Sometimes all the misunderstandings have resolved at once and sometimes they resolve in stages.
Are used to be fine with this until I realized how repetitive they were. Now I just find them vaguely irritating.
I mention this only because it relates to my current state of mind, so I suppose this has a theme as well. As some of you know, I've been struggling with entanglements, or at least things I viewed as entanglements. It struck me this morning that the problem is not the entanglements themselves but how I deal with them. This may seem obvious to some people but not me,
Last night we saw a movie called Personal Shopper. It stars Kristen Stewart, who you may remember from one of those vampire kinds of things that was around a few years ago. She plays basically the same part here except she's a personal shopper. Or is she? She's also a medium, trying to make contact with her dead twin brother. Or is she?
It's one of those movies where you don't know at the end if anything actually happened or if it was all in the character's head. We saw it at this little place called Cinematheque, which is the closest thing Miami Beach has to an art house. It's just a pretty big room with a large projection screen and 100 seats or so. We were the only ones there when the movie started though someone else straggled in around 5 minutes in.
The whole thing has a pretty spooky feel and Stewart, as is her wont, spends a lot of time biting her lip and pushing her hair around. After it ends with a "did this really happen?" my wife and I strolled out and said to the guy working the ticket stand, "weird to watch that movie with only one other person." To which he replied without hesitation "What other person?"
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Yet more noodles
Actually I mean yet more travel, but the title is a favorite phrase from our lasagna recipe.
A word to the wise- the Sacramento airport is an absolute mob scene at 5 AM. The gate agent told me that every airline has multiple 6AM departures, probably because everyone is heading for a connection somewhere else. The line to check a bag was beyond anything I've ever seen, and the security line went halfway across the bridge to the parking lot, which I heard was relatively "short." PreChek probably saved me 20 minutes and having only carry-on luggage another 10 or 15.
The hotel where I spent my last few hours in Sacramento was very nice. I got upgraded to a suite, into which you could have fit 4 of my rooms at the Best Western Plus. I sat at the desk and had a beer and wrote and then I went to bed. I only traversed the space to close the shades, which was ridiculous anyway because I was getting up before sunrise.
I know I keep coming back to this, but there’s been a surreality to this whole thing, from the timing to grocery shopping with my sister and everything in between. But I’ll never forget the warmth and unrestrained love that permeated the whole time.
The flight was pretty uneventful. I had to change planes in Phoenix, which is a huge airport where it can be daunting to change planes if you have to go from one terminal to the next (leave plenty of time if you ever connect there). But my flights were next door to each other, so I just went for a little walk to stretch my legs.
Got into Philly on time and completely disoriented. It wasn’t much better when I got home- nice as it was to be home. I (hopefully) managed to pack properly for the next trip and basically stumbled around. Ate dinner, watched some TV and went to bed.
This morning I got up and prepared to get out of town. Went to the airport and are now on our way to Miami for a few relaxing days in Key Biscayne. It seemed extremely odd to be going back to the airport less than 24 hours after getting home, but I'm happy with where we’re going. It’s a relaxing place and it’s familiar and so will not take any adjustment. We can just settle in quickly.
Eventually got through Miami's awful awful awful airport and waiting to get into our room here. I can’t help but feel a part of me still with my cousins, and my uncle’s passing is taking its time seeping through me. I’m sure that will gradually fade off, though I don’t want it entirely gone. Now I’m left to contemplate what my own next steps are. One of the reasons I wanted to go away to this place at this time was to try to disengage myself. I’m pretty sure I can at least mostly do that. It's nice to be here.
A word to the wise- the Sacramento airport is an absolute mob scene at 5 AM. The gate agent told me that every airline has multiple 6AM departures, probably because everyone is heading for a connection somewhere else. The line to check a bag was beyond anything I've ever seen, and the security line went halfway across the bridge to the parking lot, which I heard was relatively "short." PreChek probably saved me 20 minutes and having only carry-on luggage another 10 or 15.
The hotel where I spent my last few hours in Sacramento was very nice. I got upgraded to a suite, into which you could have fit 4 of my rooms at the Best Western Plus. I sat at the desk and had a beer and wrote and then I went to bed. I only traversed the space to close the shades, which was ridiculous anyway because I was getting up before sunrise.
I know I keep coming back to this, but there’s been a surreality to this whole thing, from the timing to grocery shopping with my sister and everything in between. But I’ll never forget the warmth and unrestrained love that permeated the whole time.
The flight was pretty uneventful. I had to change planes in Phoenix, which is a huge airport where it can be daunting to change planes if you have to go from one terminal to the next (leave plenty of time if you ever connect there). But my flights were next door to each other, so I just went for a little walk to stretch my legs.
Got into Philly on time and completely disoriented. It wasn’t much better when I got home- nice as it was to be home. I (hopefully) managed to pack properly for the next trip and basically stumbled around. Ate dinner, watched some TV and went to bed.
This morning I got up and prepared to get out of town. Went to the airport and are now on our way to Miami for a few relaxing days in Key Biscayne. It seemed extremely odd to be going back to the airport less than 24 hours after getting home, but I'm happy with where we’re going. It’s a relaxing place and it’s familiar and so will not take any adjustment. We can just settle in quickly.
Eventually got through Miami's awful awful awful airport and waiting to get into our room here. I can’t help but feel a part of me still with my cousins, and my uncle’s passing is taking its time seeping through me. I’m sure that will gradually fade off, though I don’t want it entirely gone. Now I’m left to contemplate what my own next steps are. One of the reasons I wanted to go away to this place at this time was to try to disengage myself. I’m pretty sure I can at least mostly do that. It's nice to be here.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
The consequences of caring
Note: If you're reading this expecting entertainment, you will be disappointed. If you're in the mood for reflective thought and, for better or worse, a dose of my own personal self-awareness you're in the right place.
So now my part of this is over. I'm heading home in the morning and then off to Florida with Ronnie the next day for a well-earned vacation. I've moved over to a hotel near the airport because I have a 6AM departure tomorrow. Whatever. I am completely disoriented as to what time or day it is at this point. Going into a situation this intense while completely exhausted has made the whole experience surreal.
Today was actually very low key. I went for a walk with my sister this morning. She's an excellent walking companion. Keeps a good pace, happy to talk or not talk. From basically nothing we've fashioned a pretty nice relationship over the past few years. It's a nice part of my life. We're pretty different but still have a lot in common, as one might expect from siblings 10 years apart in age and different genders but from the same family. There's a lot of my mom in both of us. We spent the afternoon just hanging out, we bought groceries, my sister made dinner, we all ate dinner. And it was great. She'll be here for a couple of more days, which will be great for everyone.
If nothing else, this trip has reminded me of the value of knowing what to hold onto and what to let go of. This is a struggle for me as a general rule, and the reminder doesn't necessarily make it easier but it does make it easier to see the necessity. Cute sentence structure aside, this is an important thing for me, because I've realized just over the past year or so that one of the results of being the person I am is that I can't not notice and I can't not understand and I can't not care. I have longed for the ability to transform myself into the clueless sitcom dad/guy who remains oblivious to whatever is going on around him. But it's not happening. I'm oblivious to almost nothing, and that's a problem if you can't let things go.
This was a goal for me during this break. I've gotten myself way too deep into too many things and needed some space to see my way out. I don't regret anything I've done, but I'm not really big on setting limits for myself (okay, maybe I should just say I'm not good at it) and I've always had confidence that I could take anything on and handle it. And I kind of can do that, but I'm now more aware of the emotional toll it takes. I'm a relative newcomer to emotional intelligence, so I'm always learning.
None of this has anything to do with today in particular. It's more that I've either hopped or tumbled off the treadmill, depending on whether or not you believe that the getting off was intentional. I think I knew it was necessary, and if coming into a end of life event doesn't shake you up a bit, there's something wrong with you. But more than that there is my relationship with my still living and breathing family, and these are the kinds of events that either pull you together or drive you apart. Fortunately, this was full of thankfulness and caring and genuine love. And let that be a lesson to me about what's really important. My cousins will struggle with the loss of their father but they will move on, in ways more positive than not.
The consequences of caring can affect you in all kinds of ways. I'll be the first to admit that I let them get the better of me from time to time, but I'd rather be out there and learn to deal with it than avoid the engagement in the first place. Most of my caring about people has been rewarding and soulful and in some cases really important to the people I care about. And I'll take the fallout any day, and in most cases not only don't I regret it but I'd probably do the same thing the next time around. I'll know how to handle things better but I don't think I'd change what I did.
I tell my students that one of the key questions you need to ask yourself are "Where am I and what am I doing?" And add in "how am I doing?" Well I'm here, and I'm being me, and I'm doing okay. And I'm heading home in a few hours. Things are good.
So now my part of this is over. I'm heading home in the morning and then off to Florida with Ronnie the next day for a well-earned vacation. I've moved over to a hotel near the airport because I have a 6AM departure tomorrow. Whatever. I am completely disoriented as to what time or day it is at this point. Going into a situation this intense while completely exhausted has made the whole experience surreal.
Today was actually very low key. I went for a walk with my sister this morning. She's an excellent walking companion. Keeps a good pace, happy to talk or not talk. From basically nothing we've fashioned a pretty nice relationship over the past few years. It's a nice part of my life. We're pretty different but still have a lot in common, as one might expect from siblings 10 years apart in age and different genders but from the same family. There's a lot of my mom in both of us. We spent the afternoon just hanging out, we bought groceries, my sister made dinner, we all ate dinner. And it was great. She'll be here for a couple of more days, which will be great for everyone.
If nothing else, this trip has reminded me of the value of knowing what to hold onto and what to let go of. This is a struggle for me as a general rule, and the reminder doesn't necessarily make it easier but it does make it easier to see the necessity. Cute sentence structure aside, this is an important thing for me, because I've realized just over the past year or so that one of the results of being the person I am is that I can't not notice and I can't not understand and I can't not care. I have longed for the ability to transform myself into the clueless sitcom dad/guy who remains oblivious to whatever is going on around him. But it's not happening. I'm oblivious to almost nothing, and that's a problem if you can't let things go.
This was a goal for me during this break. I've gotten myself way too deep into too many things and needed some space to see my way out. I don't regret anything I've done, but I'm not really big on setting limits for myself (okay, maybe I should just say I'm not good at it) and I've always had confidence that I could take anything on and handle it. And I kind of can do that, but I'm now more aware of the emotional toll it takes. I'm a relative newcomer to emotional intelligence, so I'm always learning.
None of this has anything to do with today in particular. It's more that I've either hopped or tumbled off the treadmill, depending on whether or not you believe that the getting off was intentional. I think I knew it was necessary, and if coming into a end of life event doesn't shake you up a bit, there's something wrong with you. But more than that there is my relationship with my still living and breathing family, and these are the kinds of events that either pull you together or drive you apart. Fortunately, this was full of thankfulness and caring and genuine love. And let that be a lesson to me about what's really important. My cousins will struggle with the loss of their father but they will move on, in ways more positive than not.
The consequences of caring can affect you in all kinds of ways. I'll be the first to admit that I let them get the better of me from time to time, but I'd rather be out there and learn to deal with it than avoid the engagement in the first place. Most of my caring about people has been rewarding and soulful and in some cases really important to the people I care about. And I'll take the fallout any day, and in most cases not only don't I regret it but I'd probably do the same thing the next time around. I'll know how to handle things better but I don't think I'd change what I did.
I tell my students that one of the key questions you need to ask yourself are "Where am I and what am I doing?" And add in "how am I doing?" Well I'm here, and I'm being me, and I'm doing okay. And I'm heading home in a few hours. Things are good.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Not the end, but the next chapter
I woke up this morning to the not unexpected news that my uncle Mike had passed away not long after I'd left. He was at peace. I'll write more about him later; he was a remarkable man by any measure. The main immediate thing is that he died on his 103rd birthday, on Palm Sunday (he was a devout Catholic- more on that later), with his family at his side, hours after his friends had gathered to celebrate him, surrounded by love. It was a blessing and nobody deserved that kind of conclusion more than he.
I'm always reticent to talk about other people in my blog, because it's none of my business, so I will just riff a bit on how I feel.
I think I made it clear in my last post how strange the juxtaposition (how many of you knew how that word was spelled?) of celebration of and impending end of life was. Looking back on it less than 24 hours later it's clear to me just how totally fitting it was.
It's hard for me to isolate my feelings without going into too many details about Mike, (he was my mother's sister's husband) which is a whole 'nother essay. But I'll focus on a couple of particularly striking things. The first is that Mike had one arm. He had a hunting accident when he was a young man and had it amputated. The only thing I ever saw him need help with as a result of this deficit was cutting his food- he needed things like steak cut for him. He remained an avid sportsman for many many years and I remember watching him tying fishing lures onto his tine with hand and teeth. I also remember playing baseball with him on the front lawn and marveling at how he could hit the ball farther than me with one arm.
Baseball was a real connection for us. He was born in 1914 and grew up idolizing Babe Ruth, wanting to be Babe Ruth, and he remained a lifelong Yankee fan. He was nothing if not loyal to those he loved. One of the best things I ever did for him was alert him to the existence of the MLB cable TV packages that allowed him to watch the Yankees on a daily basis. I wouldn't say we were close- we were polar opposites in many ways. Back in the day when I was spending a lot of time with his family, he clearly disapproved of my long hair and foul mouth and affection for certain only-now-legal-in-California substances. But he never let that stand in the way of being a loving, caring uncle who was always up for thrashing me at cribbage.
I remember camping with him and his family in northern California and on the Santa Cruz beach. I love his children as dearly as anyone in my life. He had an mostly indirect yet profound effect on me.
Once I grew up, or whatever it is that I've done, I saw him far less frequently. But he was always in my heart and always welcoming when I would venture out to his home. And I'll have him with me from now until it's my turn to go.
I'm always reticent to talk about other people in my blog, because it's none of my business, so I will just riff a bit on how I feel.
I think I made it clear in my last post how strange the juxtaposition (how many of you knew how that word was spelled?) of celebration of and impending end of life was. Looking back on it less than 24 hours later it's clear to me just how totally fitting it was.
It's hard for me to isolate my feelings without going into too many details about Mike, (he was my mother's sister's husband) which is a whole 'nother essay. But I'll focus on a couple of particularly striking things. The first is that Mike had one arm. He had a hunting accident when he was a young man and had it amputated. The only thing I ever saw him need help with as a result of this deficit was cutting his food- he needed things like steak cut for him. He remained an avid sportsman for many many years and I remember watching him tying fishing lures onto his tine with hand and teeth. I also remember playing baseball with him on the front lawn and marveling at how he could hit the ball farther than me with one arm.
Baseball was a real connection for us. He was born in 1914 and grew up idolizing Babe Ruth, wanting to be Babe Ruth, and he remained a lifelong Yankee fan. He was nothing if not loyal to those he loved. One of the best things I ever did for him was alert him to the existence of the MLB cable TV packages that allowed him to watch the Yankees on a daily basis. I wouldn't say we were close- we were polar opposites in many ways. Back in the day when I was spending a lot of time with his family, he clearly disapproved of my long hair and foul mouth and affection for certain only-now-legal-in-California substances. But he never let that stand in the way of being a loving, caring uncle who was always up for thrashing me at cribbage.
I remember camping with him and his family in northern California and on the Santa Cruz beach. I love his children as dearly as anyone in my life. He had an mostly indirect yet profound effect on me.
Once I grew up, or whatever it is that I've done, I saw him far less frequently. But he was always in my heart and always welcoming when I would venture out to his home. And I'll have him with me from now until it's my turn to go.
24 or so unusual hours
If you have a particular outlook on the world and on life, you can divide days roughly into the categories of mundane, peculiar, quite peculiar, and most peculiar. If it seems to you like I'm reaching for unusual words to describe things you would be correct. I've just tired of using words like "weird" and "bizarre." Yesterday was most peculiar.
My original spring break plan was to go to D.C. to do Washington things and then to North Carolina to visit friends. But I realized a few weeks ago that I was too wiped out to do that and needed to lie on a beach. So that was the plan, and I kind of coasted through my last day of school. And during my last class I got an email saying that my not quite 103 year-old uncle Mike, who resides in Sacramento, was in his final days. I wasn't sure what to do, but by the time evening rolled around (how do times of day 'roll around?' and what does that even mean?) I decided I had to be there.
Keep in mind that I was in no shape to be doing this, but somehow I was doing this. So I first endured this very long flight. It's very hard to get to Sacramento, considering it's the capital of a very large state. I'm not sure if it's hard to get to because there's no particular reason to go of if people rarely go there because it's hard to do, but I got in at 10:30 Pacific (1:30 Eastern) having not had dinner. The rental car agent pointed me to a nearby In-and-Out Burger so I had a burger and fries at the equivalent of 2 AM.
I got to the motel and saw a note that they were doing roof work, so I respectfully requested to not be on the top floor. This lead me to be placed in what they call an "accessible room." Everything is set up for handicapped people, so the good part is that there's a bench in the shower (always a bonus) and the bad part is that the bathroom has to be huge to accommodate a wheelchair, so the rest of the room is tiny. But I slept.
And in the morning I had the lovely breakfast that they offer at a Best Western Plus (by the way, the math teachers among us know that "plus" implies something more. Ain't seeing it here- I suppose one could be adding a negative...) and then went for a walk by the American River. That was all quite lovely. I had lots of thoughts that I believed I had recorded, but they seem to have been disappeared by my phone. Anyway, here's what happened.
After my walk I went to the house and was filled with memories of joy and love and all sorts of emotional complications over the years. I don't see my cousins nearly as often as I'd like because it's far (I had written a lot about this yesterday but my phone seems to have dropped it somehow) but they are my only really close extended family. We saw each other regularly as kids and less regularly as adults, but we've always been bonded in a way that's rare in my family.
I came in and sat with my cousins and uncle (I'm going to limit this to my own experiences as a matter of privacy for others). It felt really good to be there. I held my uncle's hand and spoke to him, and though he was mostly unresponsive, I'll believe that he knew I was there. I then was informed that because this was his 103rd birthday, that there was a party planned and that most of the people coming did not know his status. So I, along with my once-removed younger cousins, dealt with the caterer and ran to the store to get supplies and such.
I knew this was going to be strange and possibly quite awkward, but I did what I could. It was nice to spend the time with family. My uncle had a very large circle of friends and over the course of the afternoon, many of them came by to celebrate him. They were disappointed that he couldn't participate, but after the difficult part of "where's Mike?" they were still glad to be part of things. I'll write more about my uncle later, but if you live 103 years and genuinely care about people you make many unbreakable connections.
People stayed for a while. I was kind of floating in time and wasn't completely aware of everything going on, but it was a happy occasion. There was singing and story-telling and just the nice dynamic of people who have no connection with each other besides their knowing the same person getting to hear other sides of someone they cared about. My uncle was both very private and very public, so many people knew him in many different ways- neighbors, colleagues, friends from all aspects of his life.
I wish I could say that I was able to fully engage with all of this and I tried, but I didn't know any of these people nor they me and it was ultimately beyond my capacity. So eventually I had to step away for a little while. Fortunately, I had the good fortune to have the company of my brother and the husband of one of my cousins and a couple of the younger cousins. It was a separate but equally warm and caring time that I will always cherish.
Eventually the party dissipated and I went back to his room and spend some time with my close cousins and my uncle. Everyone seemed very happy about the way things had gone, even if they weren't a part of the actual goings on. We talked quietly and I held my uncle's hand for a while and talked about the past and the future. He seemed very at peace as I left, and I left thinking he was in a good place.
I went back to my crappy motel and promptly fell asleep.
More to come...
My original spring break plan was to go to D.C. to do Washington things and then to North Carolina to visit friends. But I realized a few weeks ago that I was too wiped out to do that and needed to lie on a beach. So that was the plan, and I kind of coasted through my last day of school. And during my last class I got an email saying that my not quite 103 year-old uncle Mike, who resides in Sacramento, was in his final days. I wasn't sure what to do, but by the time evening rolled around (how do times of day 'roll around?' and what does that even mean?) I decided I had to be there.
Keep in mind that I was in no shape to be doing this, but somehow I was doing this. So I first endured this very long flight. It's very hard to get to Sacramento, considering it's the capital of a very large state. I'm not sure if it's hard to get to because there's no particular reason to go of if people rarely go there because it's hard to do, but I got in at 10:30 Pacific (1:30 Eastern) having not had dinner. The rental car agent pointed me to a nearby In-and-Out Burger so I had a burger and fries at the equivalent of 2 AM.
I got to the motel and saw a note that they were doing roof work, so I respectfully requested to not be on the top floor. This lead me to be placed in what they call an "accessible room." Everything is set up for handicapped people, so the good part is that there's a bench in the shower (always a bonus) and the bad part is that the bathroom has to be huge to accommodate a wheelchair, so the rest of the room is tiny. But I slept.
And in the morning I had the lovely breakfast that they offer at a Best Western Plus (by the way, the math teachers among us know that "plus" implies something more. Ain't seeing it here- I suppose one could be adding a negative...) and then went for a walk by the American River. That was all quite lovely. I had lots of thoughts that I believed I had recorded, but they seem to have been disappeared by my phone. Anyway, here's what happened.
After my walk I went to the house and was filled with memories of joy and love and all sorts of emotional complications over the years. I don't see my cousins nearly as often as I'd like because it's far (I had written a lot about this yesterday but my phone seems to have dropped it somehow) but they are my only really close extended family. We saw each other regularly as kids and less regularly as adults, but we've always been bonded in a way that's rare in my family.
I came in and sat with my cousins and uncle (I'm going to limit this to my own experiences as a matter of privacy for others). It felt really good to be there. I held my uncle's hand and spoke to him, and though he was mostly unresponsive, I'll believe that he knew I was there. I then was informed that because this was his 103rd birthday, that there was a party planned and that most of the people coming did not know his status. So I, along with my once-removed younger cousins, dealt with the caterer and ran to the store to get supplies and such.
I knew this was going to be strange and possibly quite awkward, but I did what I could. It was nice to spend the time with family. My uncle had a very large circle of friends and over the course of the afternoon, many of them came by to celebrate him. They were disappointed that he couldn't participate, but after the difficult part of "where's Mike?" they were still glad to be part of things. I'll write more about my uncle later, but if you live 103 years and genuinely care about people you make many unbreakable connections.
People stayed for a while. I was kind of floating in time and wasn't completely aware of everything going on, but it was a happy occasion. There was singing and story-telling and just the nice dynamic of people who have no connection with each other besides their knowing the same person getting to hear other sides of someone they cared about. My uncle was both very private and very public, so many people knew him in many different ways- neighbors, colleagues, friends from all aspects of his life.
I wish I could say that I was able to fully engage with all of this and I tried, but I didn't know any of these people nor they me and it was ultimately beyond my capacity. So eventually I had to step away for a little while. Fortunately, I had the good fortune to have the company of my brother and the husband of one of my cousins and a couple of the younger cousins. It was a separate but equally warm and caring time that I will always cherish.
Eventually the party dissipated and I went back to his room and spend some time with my close cousins and my uncle. Everyone seemed very happy about the way things had gone, even if they weren't a part of the actual goings on. We talked quietly and I held my uncle's hand for a while and talked about the past and the future. He seemed very at peace as I left, and I left thinking he was in a good place.
I went back to my crappy motel and promptly fell asleep.
More to come...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)